Lucky Stiff
Book Three of the Escort Girls Anthology
By Magda McKune
Part 2
CHAPTER 5
"I could use a shower," I grimaced in disgust, heading toward the hallway of her apartment.
The cop closed the front door and set her gym bag onto the floor and said, "You go ahead. I'll clean up later."
I stopped and turned with a hand on one hip. "We could always conserve water and shower together."
"That's all right," she dismissed, crossing to the recliner. "You go on ahead."
I took a couple steps closer to her as she dropped into the easy chair. "I thought you were supposed to protect me," I sighed lustily, peeling the tight leotard top from my shoulders and exposing my full breasts to her. "Stay within arm's reach so to speak."
The woman sat silently watching me, her eyes riveted to my body as I slowly undressed before her. "There might be a bad bogeyman in the bathroom," I pouted, pushing my workout clothes to my ankles and kicking the outfit aside. "Or what if I get all lightheaded from my strenuous workout?" I cooed, stepping nearer, my fingertips lightly tracing from my navel across my tummy to the crease beneath my ripe melons. "I might swoon from exhaustion and fall." I paused before her, my fingers encircling the dark areola around my hardening nipples. "You wouldn't want me to hurt myself, would you?"
"I'm sure you'll be fine."
"But having you near me I'll be even better."
"I'll be right out here."
"Party poop."
After a quick shower, I returned from the bathroom wearing a large towel wrapped around my body knotted at my chest. Louise glanced up from reading her magazine. "Feel cleaner?"
"My mind is still as dirty as ever."
"No big surprise there."
"You don't approve of me much, do you?" I snorted crossing to the couch.
"I don't judge people."
"Sure you do. Everybody judges -- they just don't want to admit it." I sat on the cushion close to her and tucked my legs under me. "You think I'm a slut and a whore, fucking any guy who comes my way. Well, I'll tell you one thing Miss Lady Detective, what I do with my body is my business. I had to put up with a lot of shit before I became an escort. Now I wear nice clothes and dine at fancy restaurants and I'll tell you one thing right now, I more than paid my dues, over and over again. One thing I've learned is that life is too fucking short. You gotta take all that life has to offer or you'll hate yourself for letting it slip through your fingers." I tilted my head to the side and raked my hand through my wet hair. "Champagne, limousines, diamond necklaces -- shit honey, I'm out to experience all the pleasures life has to offer. And if I want to screw some strange dude in some no name nowhere motel that's my business. You said yourself someone may be trying to kill me. Who knows, they might succeed. I want to leave this world knowing I savored every precious moment, not regretting past opportunities."
"Quite a philosophy."
I regarded my protector evenly. "People complain they don't have enough pleasures in their lives. As an escort I try to give it to them. Some of those pleasures may be sexual. If that makes me a whore then so be it."
"You're not a whore."
"Oh, I don't know," I ruminated resting my arm along the back of the couch. "Selling my body for a price to strangers, doing their bidding in order to fulfill their suppressed fantasies. What would you call that?"
The edge of the woman's mouth curled in a slight smile. "Effectively financially utilizing your assets and talents to the benefit of a frustrated social class."
I laughed out loud. "That might be a little hard to fit on a business card."
She smiled. "Then let's just say professional escort."
I stood and rested my hands at the small of my back and leaned back to stretch my spine, my full breasts straining against the knot of the towel. "You ever allow yourself to have any pleasures detective?"
"Sometimes."
I glanced over to catch her eyes studying my sculpted pubic mound peeking out from under the edge of my cover. "Sometimes?" I asked, leaning to the side and offering plenty of bare hip.
"Pleasures enough."
I sashayed over to her and raised a bare leg, stretching over across her lap and placing my foot on the arm of her chair. "Tell me; what turns you on detective?"
"I prefer straight sex."
"Yes yes," I sighed in exasperation, my hands caressing my satiny dark limb before her face. "But what turns you on?"
"What do you mean?"
"You ever sunbathe in the nude detective? You ever masturbate to a dirty movie? Hell, I doubt you ever seen a stag flick." I swung my leg down and rested one butt cheek on the arm of her chair. "You like to watch two people fucking -- maybe finger yourself off in the shadows? A little voyeurism, hmm?"
"I'm not a slave to my body like you are."
"Maybe you like it rough. The leather queen of discipline, a little spanking to get you going? Or perhaps you like to be the one tied up, a little hog-tie bondage now and then. Ever use those shiny handcuffs on yourself?"
"Hardly."
"Do black people turn you on, lady cop?" I lifted my leg and set my foot on the cushion by her knee, the towel slipping down to expose my naked calf. "Or are you one of those racist purists?"
"I'm not a racist." She touched her hand to my thigh intending to push my leg away.
I quickly put my hand over hers to keep it in place. "You ever feel a black girl before?" Her eyes jumped from my hand to my face and back down again. Either she was too startled to answer or her silence meant she had never been that close to a naked colored chick before. I gently eased her hand along my leg closer to my groin. "White clients think black women are exotic, intriguing, even a little taboo." I slid her hand to the crease at the top of my thigh, her fingers nearly touching my dark snatch. "What do you think detective?"
"I... I don't..." I could tell her breathing was becoming faster, her pulse accelerating.
I took her wrist in my hand and gradually eased her palm over to my damp vagina. "You ever have a taste for dark meat baby?" The woman touched my moist vagina and quickly withdrew her hand as if she had burned her fingers on an open flame. I chuckled and rose from her chair. "A little jumpy, aren't we?"
"Just... startled."
I laughed and sat on the arm of the couch. "Maybe just a little excited you mean."
Baker narrowed her eyes at me. "You don't like me much, do you?"
"Oh, I don't know," I mused. "Sometimes when you let your guard down and drop that hard-nosed bitch cop routine you can be quite pleasant."
"Maybe we just started off on the wrong foot," she frowned. "I want to protect you, find out who wants to kill you and solve Jacob's murder in the process. If we can't be friends, at least let's not be adversaries."
"I would prefer to be your friend, detective, but I tend to get a little testy when I feel caged up like this. I know you want to keep an eye on me, but I can't stay cooped up in your apartment for the rest of my life."
"A little patience would be nice, particularly since it's your ass hanging in the balance."
I stood and wandered around the room, adjusting the knot of the towel at my bosom. "You really think I'm in some kind of danger?"
"I don't know, but I'd sure as hell hate to lose you."
I turned to her, studying her face. "Why Louise Baker, I believe you're developing a liking to me."